


Out of Control

by luvsanime02



Series: Cocktail Friday Fics [36]
Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: Cocktail Friday, Friendship, Gen, Humor, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-31
Updated: 2018-08-31
Packaged: 2019-07-05 02:59:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15854856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luvsanime02/pseuds/luvsanime02
Summary: Quatre needs some help. Lucky for him, he knows just who to call.





	Out of Control

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the August 31st Cocktail Party prompt found here: https://gwcocktailfriday.tumblr.com/post/177375821027/cocktail-friday-post-responses-on-friday-august.

**Disclaimer:** I don’t own Gundam Wing, and am making no money off of this fic.

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**Out of Control** by luvsanime02

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Quatre doesn’t want to admit it, but he might have something of a conundrum right now. He stands in front of the liquor store, looking inside at all of the colorful bottles, and then he glances back down at his phone. Why is he the one who’s been assigned this task, again?

_ Could you grab a bottle of black label? _

The message on his phone doesn’t change, no matter how intently he peers at the letters. Quatre still has no idea what specific alcohol the text is referring to, though. He doesn’t drink, never has. For one thing, it’s against his religion. For another, none of it’s ever looked even the slightest bit appealing to him.

If anyone else but Wufei had sent Quatre this message, he’d think that they were pulling a prank on him. As it is, he’s still half-tempted to try and find out whether or not Wufei’s phone is being temporarily used by someone else.

Quatre’s well aware that this is a ridiculous situation to find himself in, and that he could probably figure out whatever ‘black label’ means quite easily, by asking the store owner. It’s just…

If this is a joke, then Quatre is going to look silly. If it  _ isn’t  _ a joke, then Quatre is going to look even  _ more  _ ridiculous, and the last thing that he needs is for headlines to be printing disparaging remarks about his intelligence tomorrow.

Eventually, Quatre reminds himself that Wufei is waiting on him. That his friend is holding a housewarming party tonight, and has been nervous enough about everything turning out just perfect, and that Wufei is probably low-key stressing out about the missing alcohol. Quatre needs to head inside the store already, and just deal with it. Maybe he can look around some, and browse until he sees something with a black label on it?

Right. That’ll work. Rolling his eyes at himself, Quatre finally enters the store, nods to the woman behind the counter, and then starts slowly walking around. Very quickly, he discovers that his intuition was right, and that this plan is not going to work.  _ Why  _ are there so many different kinds of alcohol? How? Where does he even start?

Quatre has no choice, it seems. He scrolls through his contacts and dials Trowa, hoping that he answers. It’s even odds on whether or not Trowa has his phone on him, and that it’s charged. Luckily, the call is picked up almost immediately.

“Quatre,” Trowa greets. “How are you?”

And just like that, Quatre feels calmer. He can breathe more easily, and he feels centered. He’s always been amazed by how relaxed just hearing Trowa’s voice can make him feel. 

“Hello, Trowa,” he says warmly. “I’m fine. Only, I have a question that’s going to sound a bit silly.”

“Alright,” Trowa says, his tone completely nonjudgmental. “What is it? Are you on your way to Wufei’s yet?”

Quatre glances at the time and winces. He should be hurrying along, yes. “I’m almost on my way,” he says, knowing that this doesn’t make much sense. “Just… what’s black label?” he blurts out.

There’s a pause. “It’s a whiskey,” Trowa says slowly. “Why do you need to know that?” 

His confusion is expected, since Trowa’s of course well aware of Quatre’s lack of experience with alcohol. “Um, Wufei wants me to pick some up,” he confesses. “And I know that he’s stressing out about the party, so I don’t want to bother him, but I have  _ no idea  _ what he means.”

Trowa chuckles. “The alcohol is arranged in sections,” he says after a second. “Look around for a bunch of tall, square bottles, with names like Jameson and Johnnie Walker.”

Okay, Quatre can do that. He looks around, scanning the bottles, and it doesn’t take him long at all before he’s pretty sure that he’s in front of the right section. An orange sign behind the bottles with the phrase ‘Soup of the Day: Whiskey’ on it is also a big clue.

“Found the whiskey,” Quatre confirms, feeling just a little bit accomplished already. “Which one am I looking for?”

“A Johnnie Walker,” Trowa says. “It has a black diagonal design across it that actually says ‘Black Label’ on the bottle.”

That should be easy enough to spot, and after a minute of walking down the aisle, Quatre lets out a sound of triumph. He grabs a bottle, and then another one, just in case, and then he walks over to the register with relief.

“I take it you found the right one?” Trowa asks, amused.

Quatre grins. “Yes, thank you, Trowa.”

“Sure thing,” Trowa says easily. “I’ll see you soon at Wufei’s.”

“See you,” Quatre says, hanging up and giving the woman scanning the bottles his full attention. Quatre shows his license, which surprises him when he’s asked for it. Though, after a moment, he realizes that makes sense as a requirement if they have to be sure that everyone who buys something from the store is of the legal age. He then swipes his credit card and leaves the store with a sense of victory.

He’s being so ridiculous, but can’t quite stop smiling, anyway. Now, time to go hang out with his friends and pray that Trowa doesn’t tell the others about Quatre’s trip to the liquor store. He’d never hear the end of that.


End file.
